Dressed Sharply
by Janieshi
Summary: "'What do YOU know? Maybe I just have a secret admirer' she said hotly." SoulxMaka, rated T for some minor language and slightly risque situations.
1. Chapter 1

**Dressed Sharply**

* * *

The tag on the gift box said it was from Soul Eater Evans.

Looking back, that should've been her first clue—Soul never signed his full name. Or rather, it should've been her second clue, as it was rare for Soul to get her _anything_, and _**unheard**_ of for him to wrap it up in fancy paper and leave it on their doorstep for her to find. On those odd occasions where he did get her a present, he simply tossed it to her from across the room as soon as he walked in the door.

But it _was_ almost her birthday, after all, and it was always possible he'd ordered something online. Tsubaki could've helped him pick out a gift this year, as she'd done last Christmas, and lots of places offered gift wrapping service for an additional fee. Why not? And so she tore into the box without a qualm.

When Soul came home a few moments later, she called out to him excitedly. Frowning, he followed the sound of her voice, and paused in her bedroom doorway, confused. She spun for him, and the flounced skirt of the soft pink dress flared out around her, showing off those long, slender legs to advantage.

"Thank you so much, Soul! I love it!" she cried, and threw herself at him for a quick hug. He was too shocked to hug her back, and she released him after a few seconds, dancing away to the full length mirror again. The furrow between his brows deepened.

"Uh, that's great, but…what are you talking about?" he drawled, leaning back against her doorframe. She paused and glanced over her shoulder at him, one eyebrow raised.

"But, the box said it was from you," she said, her smile slipping a little. Disappointment washed over her as she realized that the pretty dress wasn't from her partner after all. "If it's not…then who sent this to me?" Delicately, she smoothed the front of the skirt, meeting Soul's troubled eyes in the mirror as he moved to stand behind her.

"You mean, someone just delivered this to you, and signed _my_ name on it?" he asked, a bit more sharply than he'd intended. "Who the hell would do that?" Defensive, Maka spun on her heel and jabbed one sharp forefinger in his chest.

"What's that supposed to mean, huh? Are you saying no one would ever want to give me a birthday present?" Shit. That _was_ coming up, wasn't it? Soul groaned inwardly. He'd owe Tsubaki big time if he had to ask her for gift ideas again this year. Maka's eyes flashed dangerously when he didn't answer right away. "What do _you_ know? Maybe I just have a secret admirer!" she said hotly. "And-and he wanted to give me a present but was too shy to tell me… who it was from," she trailed off, beginning to frown herself. Her words were unconvincing even to her own ears. "But then," she continued slowly, "why would he have put anyone else's name on it? It should have been left blank if that were the case..."

"Yeah, that's definitely not normal," Soul agreed, running a finger across the fabric on her shoulder. "And it looks expensive. Maybe it's from your old man? And he didn't say it was from him because he didn't think you'd accept it…what?" Maka was looking up at him with a mixture of fear and doubt.

"No way. Since when has that idiot ever let someone else take credit for a gift he's given me? He'd have put in some obnoxious card about how I'm his one and only precious daughter and this is the only way he can prove how much he loves me, or something along those lines. Just like he does every other birthday," Maka's frown deepened, and she absently raised a hand to her face. With the other, she clutched at the delicate pink material over her chest. It was such an odd, un-Maka-like, damsel-in-distress kind of gesture that it drew Soul's attention immediately.

"What is it?" he asked warily.

"I…I don't know. I just feel really warm all of a sudden," she said, looking down at herself in confusion. "I guess it must be this material?" An above-the-knee length dress made of that thin, floaty material was too warm? Unnerved, Soul looked at Maka's face a little more closely. Sweat was beading on her brow, although her skin was still pale. Too pale.

"Maka. Take it off," Soul barked suddenly.

"What? Why?" Maka blinked up at him with eyes that had gone glassy.

"Something's not right, Maka. Take the dress off. Now!" She opened her mouth to argue, but her face twisted in pain and she gasped aloud instead. "Maka?" he reached for her, apprehensive.

"S-Soul, I…I can't breathe," she gasped. Her breath was coming in short, shallow gasps. Tears sprung into her bright green eyes, and she stumbled backwards, away from the mirror and away from Soul. Her whole body suddenly felt white-hot, and the room began to spin. Everything around her seemed to shift into slow motion, and Maka began to panic when she realized that she was not able to undo her own zipper. All that she could manage was to paw feebly at the dress. She opened her mouth to ask Soul for help, but the only sound that came out was a low whimper.

Soul was back at her side in two quick strides. Grabbing her waist with one hand, he transformed the other into a small blade, and sliced the dress from neck to hip in one quick motion. She'd started shaking violently, and Soul slashed at the fabric without remorse, not even bothering to look for the zipper. She was too dizzy and too sick to be concerned about her modesty, and she collapsed against him as the poisonous material fluttered to the floor at their feet.

The next thing she knew, she was standing naked under a stream of cold water, sobbing into Soul's chest as the water soaked them both. Her knees felt like jelly, and she sagged against her partner, gripping fistfuls of his wet t-shirt as though her life depended on it. He shushed her gently, and carefully turned her in his arms so that she was facing the water. She staggered and would have fallen forward and cracked her skull on the wall of the shower if Soul hadn't been there with her, his arms wrapped tightly around her.

"Maka. Maka! Hey, answer me! Can you hear me?" He pushed a hank of wet hair away from her face. She'd stopped convulsing a moment or two after the water had hit her skin, but her eyes were shut tight and her body was still trembling slightly. At least she'd stopped that horrible keening sound, he thought.

"Mm. I hear you," she managed after a moment. Relieved, Soul squeezed her a little tighter. Her skin was still faintly red wherever the dress had touched it. What the hell had been on that material?

"Is the water helping? Does it still hurt anywhere?" His lips brushed her ear as he spoke. She shivered at the sensation, and Soul shifted nervously against her. With his foot, he carefully nudged the tap towards "hot" without loosening his hold on his semi-conscious technician.

"It didn't—really _hurt," _shemurmured. "But I'm not—not all hot and dizzy anymore. I guess the water must've washed off whatever—whatever that was. Oooh, that's better," she breathed as the warmer water washed over them. She closed her eyes and leaned back against him, feeling weak and boneless. He sighed and reached for the container of body wash. This had the potential to turn really awkward.

Soul studied her face, watching closely for any sign of discomfort. She flinched when the washcloth brushed over her belly, but her eyelids remained firmly closed. He averted his eyes, as much as he was able to, and did the best he could to bathe her, feeling like a complete pervert all the while.

It's not like he didn't WANT to look…he was a healthy teenage boy, after all, and his female technician was not as unappealing as he often liked to pretend when in the presence of others. But for Death's sake, Maka was completely helpless and vulnerable, here. How could he betray her trust like that? Besides, even without trying, he couldn't help seeing a lot more than he should. One thing was certain—Black*Star could never know about this. Ever. Or anyone else, for that matter.

Maka didn't stir until Soul was laying her towel-wrapped body on her bed. As she cracked her eyes open, she was treated to the sight of him shimmying out of his wet, soapy clothes. Which he dumped unceremoniously into _her_ dirty clothes hamper. Then he rummaged around in the pile of clean things she'd just folded that morning to find another towel for himself. Considering the fact that he had just seen her completely naked, Maka thought it was only fair to be allowed a peek of her own. A part of her wondered whether she ought to be more concerned about the "he saw you naked" part of that thought, but she was far too tired to listen to that tiny voice. Time enough later to worry about the implications, she decided. Her eyes drifted closed again, and when next she opened them, she heard loud voices in the other room, followed by the front door slamming.

A minute later, Soul opened her bedroom door, fully clothed this time. "Hey, you up?"

"What the hell just happened, Soul?" she asked wearily. He sat down on the edge of her bed, pulling her comforter up over her as he did. "I feel like I was just tag-teamed by Black*Star and Dr. Stein."

"Well, since it looks like someone has it in for you, I called _shinigami-sama._ He sent Stein over to collect the remains of that damned dress, so that he can do some tests and figure out what was on it. He came in to check you out a minute ago, before he left. I guess you were still out of it, huh?"

"I must have been; I just woke up." She huffed indignantly. "I just hope Dr. Stein can figure out who bought that dress. It was a nasty prank to play." She wasn't quite ready to believe that someone was out to do her serious harm.

"No kidding. Stein said it looks like the soap and water washed all the stuff off of your skin. You should be feeling much better in a day or two, once you rest up a bit. He thought it was probably some sort of pesticide painted on the inside of the fabric. They're easily absorbed into your bloodstream through your skin, I guess, and they can be fatal in higher doses." Maka curled onto her side and looked up at him, eyes soft and warm on his.

"I owe you big, Soul. If you hadn't been here…I don't know what would've happened." He squeezed her hand, but didn't speak right away.

"You had me really scared for a minute there," he admitted in a slightly husky voice.

"Hey, Soul? What made you think of soap and water anyway? How'd you know that would help?"

"I didn't. But I had to do something, and I remembered…look, don't laugh, okay?" Puzzled, she nodded, and he ran his free hand though his hair with a sigh. "I, uh, remembered something I read about…while I was doing a research paper." She couldn't help it. A small giggle escaped. He shot her a death glare worthy of the name, and she stifled herself immediately.

"Sorry, tickle in my throat. Go on?" she said in the most innocent voice she could muster. Soul snorted, but a small, half smile twisted his lips.

"Shut up! I do my homework, sometimes. _Anyway_," he said warningly, as her body shook with suppressed mirth, "it was for that damn paper Marie is making us do. You know, about migrant workers in the United States? I found some article about how a bunch of workers got really sick picking tobacco, because of the levels of nicotine that were absorbed into their skin from the wet leaves. See, it would get on their clothes, which were damp from the dew on the wet plants, and then it would just sit there on their skin all day long. A lot of them died pretty slowly and painfully before anyone figured it out."

"That's horrible," Maka murmured. "Those poor people."

"Yeah. And so they started giving the workers raincoats and gloves and things so it wouldn't touch their skin. But apparently, washing the exposed skin with soap and water stops the effects if you catch it soon enough. And, I dunno, I just remembered that part when I was looking at you sweating and trembling in that damn dress, and I just thought—the symptoms were the same. And I couldn't think of what else to do."

"I think I read somewhere that they still use nicotine as a pesticide," she said thoughtfully. "So that makes sense. Well, there's another excellent reason not to smoke cigarettes, huh? Nicotine is literally poisonous." Soul managed a chuckle.

"Yeah, I pointed that out to Stein, too. He flicked his cigarette butt at me and told me to mind my own business." Maka laughed, and then winced.

"Ugh, my head still feels like a herd of elephants just tap-danced through it," she mumbled, putting a hand to her aching head. Soul leaned over to grab something from Maka's nightstand, and turned back with a bottle of water in one hand and some painkillers in the other.

"Here, these should help." He shook out two pills onto her outstretched hand. "Anyway, even Stein said he thinks it was some sort of nicotine-based poison. He'll run some tests, obviously, but he said he'd let us know when he finds out more."

"You're a lifesaver," she said reverently, accepting the water bottle to wash the pills down. "No, really," she said a little more seriously, squeezing his hand again. "Thank you, Soul."

"You don't have to thank me for that," he murmured, embarrassed. And then, more fiercely, "I'd like to know who sent that dress to you, anyway. It could've killed you."

"You…you don't think it was just some sick joke, then? Someone seriously wants me dead?"

"I'm not sure. But when we find out who pulled this sick little 'prank?'" He made a slicing motion with his hand, which was already a viciously sharp blade. "I bet Spirit will let me have a few minutes alone with him," he said darkly. They were both silent for a few minutes. Then:

"Man, this sucks. And it was such a pretty dress," she mourned softly. Soul snickered.

"That color didn't suit you at all," he said loftily. "I'm glad it's shredded." And bingo, he knew what to get her for her birthday.

"Hey, I like pink!" she protested, with a shade of her usual fiery spirit.

"Psh, it makes you look like a 10 year old. Pink's way too girly-girl for you," he argued. "Unless of course you're looking to attract pedophiles who are into that 'lolita' crap. No, _you_ need strong, bold colors to match your personality. Not that sickening candy-floss pink." Maka had fallen silent and was watching him from beneath her lashes. "What?" he said, suddenly defensive. Was she about to chop him? He never seemed to see those coming.

"I can't decide if you're trying to insult me or compliment me," she said after a moment. He flushed a little.

"Never mind." He rose to leave. "Hey, are you up to dealing with your dad yet? He came with Stein, and has been weeping and wailing at the door ever since. I already told him you were still asleep, but he said he'd wait until he could see that you were all right for himself," Soul said, rolling his eyes.

"So that's who you were arguing with? I wondered what the loud voices were all about." She sighed. "All right. Better to deal with him now before he whips himself up into an even bigger frenzy." Soul hesitated and looked back at her.

"Oh, by the way…I, uh, left out a few details when I told them what all happened earlier…I, um, didn't think it was anyone's business about, you know…" Maka noticed with interest that Mr. Calm, Cool and Collected was blushing furiously. And with a blush of her own, she realized why. "I may have implied that you …"

"That I was, um, _alone_ in the shower?" she giggled nervously in an unnatural pitch, clutching her comforter tightly to her chest. "Oh, thank Death. I thought I was going to have to listen to another Father-daughter lecture about the dangers of living with a boy. Like _he_ has any room to talk," she shook her head, trying to hide the extent of her own discomfort. Knowing that Soul was just as embarrassed about it as she was did help a little bit, but not much.

"So…we'll just keep that part between us, yeah?" Soul said, turning towards the door to hide his red face.

"Yeah. Okay," she said lightly, her relief evident. She smiled gratefully at his back. She'd already known he wouldn't say anything to their friends, but it was still nice to hear him say he'd keep it just between them.

As the door swung shut behind him, Soul heard Maka say, in a barely audible whisper: "Thank you, Soul."

* * *

A few days later, Maka snatched a lopsided, poorly wrapped bundle of paper and ribbon out of the air just before it slammed into her face. Soul just tucked his hands back into his pockets and kicked the front door shut behind him.

"Happy birthday," he said nonchalantly, and strolled past her to his room.

Grinning, she tore it open enthusiastically. It was a beautiful dress, though it was cut a bit more modestly than the first one had been. The silky fabric was a lovely shade of olive green that matched her eyes almost exactly. In less time than it had taken to rip open the wrapping paper, Maka had stripped out of her school uniform and wriggled into the dress. It fit like a glove.

"And 3…2…1…" Soul counted down softly. Just as he reached "1," Maka threw open his bedroom door.

"Oh, Soul! It's perfect!" He propped himself up on his elbows and smirked at her.

"Added bonus: it's not poisonous. Although that can always be arranged…" She wadded up the crumpled wrapping paper that was still in her hand and chucked it at his head. Laughing, he rolled off his bed to avoid it. "What, too soon?"

"Beast," she huffed, but she was still smiling. He couldn't help but notice how good the dress looked on her, and he silently thanked the overly-helpful sales girl at the boutique Liz had recommended. He'd have to endure Liz and Patty's teasing for the next few weeks, in all likelihood, but it was worth it to see that happiness lighting up his technician's face.

"I knew it," he said with an amused grin as he stood back up. "Strong, bold colors suit you better than that pale pink."

"Yep! It suits me exactly!" she agreed. "You're the best, Soul!" And this time, he caught and held her when she launched herself into his arms.

* * *

**A.N. If anyone recognizes which wonderfully ridiculous, cheese-ball early 90s TV series I got the "poisoned garment leads to male hero dragging female protagonist into the shower, where she proceeds to weep into his chest" idea from, then congratulations! You are as big a nerd as I am ;) **

**Also, according to Wikipedia, Green Tobacco Sickness is a real thing, and nicotine is in fact used in pesticides. Considering the source, all info must of course be accepted with a grain of salt. **


	2. Epilogue

**Dressed Sharply**

**Epilogue**

* * *

Later that night, Soul brushes what he assumes is a stray strand of Maka's hair off of his arm as they sit together on the couch. Neither teenager notices when a small black spider skitters out of the open window.

In a not-so-secret lair hidden deep in the heart of the Amazon, a woman listens impassively as the spider reports its observations through her vast and intricate spy network.

"Well, crap. Instead of killing the little tart, I just made that damned scythe her hero." She sighs, glancing over at two of her faceless minions hovering nearby. "I suppose I should have killed _him_ first, to keep him out of my way. Well, then. I'll just have to think of some other way to destroy my little sister's playthings, won't I?"

"Chi!" squeaks the shorter of the two, shivering in terror. The woman raises an eyebrow.

"Hai, Arachne-sama!" the other minion speaks up quickly to cover for her comrade's odd answer.

The spider witch seems satisfied, and Eruka breathes a sigh of relief behind her mask. Privately, though, she wonders why Arachne hasn't figured it out yet (not their infiltration of her organization, although that's something to ponder as well: Free certainly isn't the most cautious of men). But no, she's thinking of the elaborate poisoning plan. Doesn't this witch see that she'll never be able to separate "that damned scythe" from his scythe technician and that annoying wavelength of hers? This "divide and conquer" plot was foolish to try on any of those Shibusen teenagers—the weapon and technician pairs were just too close to each other. Arachne would be better off killing them both together at once, because if she succeeded in hurting just one, then she'd be stuck facing the wrath of the survivor. All while making the bond between the two even stronger, apparently.

When Eruka reports the incident to Medusa later, the woman bursts into hysterical laughter. Horrified, Eruka leaps on the crystal ball she's using, trying to muffle the sound against her chest. Free looks around from where he's been standing guard at the corridor, but she just shrugs at him. She's long since given up on figuring Medusa out.

"She tried to _poison_ her?" Medusa's voice rings out, painfully shrill. "Ohmigod, that's fucking priceless. Don't you get it?" She's rolling on the floor now, literally, holding her sides. All Eruka can do is stare and shake her head in bewilderment. "Spiders! Poison!" she says, between gales of laughter. "Her familiars are spiders, so she goes for poison. It's just too perfect! HAHAHAHA!" Though the image is slightly distorted, Eruka can see the tears streaming down Medusa's face. "Oh, oh…it's so uninspired; it's just like the old bag! I wish I could say her age has gotten to her, but Arachne's never been as clever as she pretends to be," she giggles madly. "I mean, really? A poisoned dress? Who does she think she is, _Medea_?"

Eruka hears Free chuckling now too, and she turns to glare at him. He doesn't even know who Medea is; she would stake her life on it. She manages, barely, to resist the urge to throw the crystal ball at his head.

"I'm surrounded by idiots," she sighs.

* * *

**Dedicated to Allison (aka Puckabrina NaMi SoMa SasuSaku). I was going to leave the culprit unnamed and let the readers draw their own conclusions as to whether Soul's rabid fan-girls or some random baddie-of-the-week was responsible for the poisoning attempt…And then Allison asked why it couldn't be Arachne. I knew immediately that I had to take that idea and run with it. Thanks for the great idea, darlin'; I'm much obliged!**

**Xoxo Janie**


End file.
